


the eye of a storm, the pull of a tide

by redeyereprisal



Category: Naruto
Genre: ... Sort of? Kaguya lore is altered, BAMF Women, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Fuuinjutsu, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Ninshu, No Kaguya, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Root - Freeform, Self-Insert, Uzumaki Clan-centric, Uzushio Village, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyereprisal/pseuds/redeyereprisal
Summary: He hadn't wanted to come here, not really. This place was like an absolute vacuum, the way it sucked people in and never let them out, more akin to a black hole than the slow whirling tides he knew so well. Lethal. Dangerous. He wanted nothing to do with the darkness leeching the life from right under the Village's nose. But he was here anyway, whether he liked it or not, and the darkness found him first.He stared down into the shallow depths of the Naka River, water dying red with blood the color of his hair, and he made a decision.(A twenty-three year old linguistics major with red hair, an attentive disorder, and hermit-like tendencies dies of blood loss. At the same moment, a child is born into a family renowned for their red hair, impulsivity, and seclusion from the world at large. Things get… complicated.)





	1. Prologue: Zephyr

**Author's Note:**

> So, okay. I know there are about a million self-insert OC fics out there. They're kind of overdone, and they're really shameless, and yadda yadda, but. I wanted to write a male one. Because, well, I'm male. I also really, REALLY wanted to write an Uzumaki character. So that is what this is. My usual policy is not posting anything until it's finished, but I'm losing motivation for this fast, and wanted to at least get this Prologue up to see if there's even any interest in the first place. It's short, but feedback is welcome (even of the negative kind!).

The wind outside Konohagakure rustled the leaves ever so slightly, creating a gentle hum left unnoticed by all but the vigilant ANBU patrolling the outer walls. The large, towering gates leading into the town creaked, and one of the two chūnin on standby at its entrance — a man of average height, with spiked hair and bandages winding around his nose — yawned. His partner, whose right eye was covered entirely by limp brown bangs, nudged him gently in admonishment for sleeping on the job. The former just frowned. There had been nearly no activity outside of the village proper all day; the soft breeze and warm sunlight tickling their senses did little to ward off the temptation of sleep in the face of boredom, and the bandaged chūnin saw no reason why he shouldn't indulge himself for a while. Still, he knew nothing good would come from upsetting his partner, so he instead sighed and straightened his posture, turning his rapidly dulling gaze out towards the forest. His partner, noticing the other’s persisting lack of motivation, rolled his eyes.

The non-verbal bickering continued in this vein for a fair fifteen minutes, increasing steadily in volume until they had switched entirely from silent motions and sarcastic eye movements to back-and-forth quips which made the passing ANBU twitch with suppressed amusement. So involved with their squabble, the guards failed to notice the three figures approaching at a pace even slower than most civilians.

(The ANBU, of course, noticed immediately.)

Ambling sedately up the road, silent save for the assorted noises made by the only civilian in their midst, the three stared up at the village walls in interest. For the shortest — clearly a child, an Academy student or perhaps a fresh genin at best — it was their first good look at a Hidden Village; their first glimpse at the shinobi world outside of interaction with their Master. They could not help but stare up at the large trees and imposing gates in awe, twisting their hands into their kimono out of poorly suppressed anxiety. Next to them, a much larger man — the largest of them, in fact — was resisting the urge to tense. He had not been near a Hidden Village since he had fled his own, and he remained wary and vigilant of Hunters looking to lob his head off and line their pockets. Surely even Konoha would not be against putting him down. The slow approach to what he perceived as near certain death was far from enjoyable. Grimacing, he adjusted his grip on the large sword hefted over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, unperturbed by their companions’ grim moods, the central figure continued onwards down the path. Their geta tapped dully against the dirt as they walked, clearly audible in the quiet air; if one listened closely enough, perhaps they could hear the soft tinkling of a bell, tied securely around the tail of the figure’s loosely braided hair. They hummed as they walked, and the beads hanging from their peculiar earrings _click-click-clicked_ against one another as their head bobbed in time with the unknown song. They were rather loud, all things considered, but they paid this no mind. Instead they fixed their eyes securely on the wall towering above them, thoughtful. They weren't quite sure what to feel about the sight. A looming stone barrier and weathered wooden doors were all that stood between them and the breeding ground for trouble; the town was their destination, true, but they could not quite help the vague sense of foreboding.

They didn't have much time to contemplate the feeling, in any case, since the moment their geta made contact with one of the sparse stones leading towards the gate, their companions stopped. The pavement marked the beginning of Konoha’s village borders, and the two shinobi were not permitted within. The civilian blinked, falling silent.

“This is as far as we go, bastard,” their taller escort rumbled, tension obvious in his voice, “We got you to the damn village, so pay up.”

Upon hearing the unknown voice so close to their station, the two chūnin paused in their argument, looking up to find the source. Both paled at the sight of the man with the large sword and bandaged face; the ANBU perched upon the walls, who had watched the trio approach, did not take their eyes off him.

“Of course,” the civilian agreed easily, pulling out (to the bafflement of the Konoha nin) a storage scroll and a small sewing needle, “Thank you for your hard work, Zabuza-san, Haku-san.”

And then they promptly stabbed their index finger with the needle.

Momochi Zabuza, accustomed to the behavior by that point in time, watched the process passively from his position on the dirt path. His partner Haku stood silent and alert at his side, similarly blank faced. The two missing-nin had been travelling with this particular client for a month now. Blood seals were one of his less interesting oddities. There was a moment where nothing happened, a small flash of light, and then—

A soft _pop_ could be heard echoing through the forest as a bag of coins appeared in the center of the storage seal, surrounded by dispersing smoke.

“Here you go,” Was all the man said, tossing the bag towards his temporary guard carelessly. Zabuza caught it without effort, and his eyes widened briefly at the weight.

They then narrowed into furious slits, his fist closing around the bag suddenly and without mercy. A faint _grind_ of metal against metal could be heard coming from within. The Konoha ANBU stood poised, prepared to jump in at any moment.

“Bastard,” Zabuza spat, knuckles white as he gripped the cloth, “what the hell is this?!” Because this— this was _not_ the payment they had agreed upon. No, not even _close._

It was far too much.

Nearby, the chūnin guards stood up hastily, ready to intervene before things got messy on their territory, but—

The civilian just smiled mischievously, his previous countenance melting away instantly.

“Insurance!” He practically sang, and Haku had to stifle a smile in response as his own muscles relaxed; it was just like Master Zabuza to be upset about being payed extra, “You can't kill me now that I'm on Konoha soil, Zabuza-san! Use it well! I better be hearing some good news about Kiri sometime in the next year!”

Zabuza looked absolutely _murderous_. Haku could not quite smother the giggle before it escaped his mouth, this time, and Zabuza shot his little partner a sharp look at the sound. Weapons did not giggle, after all. But the look was halfhearted at best, and Haku allowed his smile to show.

This client had been good for them.

“Fucking _Uzumaki_ ,” Zabuza snarled at the civilian, tossing the bag filled with too many coins at Haku and lifting his hands into a Tiger seal, “Hope I never see another one of you psychos again. Come on, Haku.”

And as Haku carefully tucked the coin purse away into his kimono, his free hand gripping tightly at his Master’s arm and his smile disappearing in a patch of fog and a whirl of water, Uzumaki Kaisei threw his head back and laughed. The bells tied artfully to his hair rang out clearly across the forest, and the leaves rustled ever so slightly in the brisk Konoha wind.

Nearby, a stunned chūnin with spiked hair and bandages winding around his nose could not help but think that this was much more interesting than a midday nap.


	2. [PREVIEW] Quiescence, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like exploding. _It was like having his soul ripped apart, piece by careful piece._
> 
> (A chapter preview, and an important update.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the complete radio silence on my end as far as updates go, I have had a bad time the last few months and am, more importantly, laid up with a fracture and chip in two bones near my wrist. I have no mobility in my thumb, and as a result I cannot type. Depending on my next X-ray results I may also be looking at major surgery on my hand. Currently I am making posts with the assistance of voice to text, but given that said technology does not recognize almost any Japanese names or terms used in Naruto fan fiction, I can’t rely on it for writing purposes. Sorry.
> 
> I am uploading a preview of the next chapter for each of my stories to tide everyone over until my hand recovers; I have over 2,000 words written for the next Ghosts chapter, and around 5,000 for eye of a storm. The previews are a few hundred words each. I just felt really horrible making everyone wait so long.
> 
> These preview chapters will be deleted once the actual chapters are completed. Everyone is welcome to follow me on [Tumblr](http://redeyereprisal.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/redeyereprise) for periodic updates on my progress in both writing and recovery. I'm also open to answering questions via AO3 comment or FFN PM, though again, I can't type and am relying mostly on copy and paste or voice to text for communication.
> 
> I hope you enjoy what little I am able to provide, for now.

“Concentrate on the area around your diaphragm, between your chest and stomach. Notice how it feels, how it moves. Let your breathing slow as you focus. There should be an energy there, like a ball of sunlight just below your ribs— find that energy, and guide it out from where it’s hiding, towards your hands. _Gently_ , like you’re helping a friend.”

Seated motionlessly on damp grass, a five year-old child exhaled deliberately, the only acknowledgement that he had heard the words of the redheaded man seated before him. He brought his hands up to rest in his lap as a ram seal, small fingers fumbling slightly, before once again falling still.

As he focused, a small crease appeared in the skin between his brows. The corners of his lips turned down very slightly, and it was with evident effort that he did not squirm with impatience. But the boy remained stationary, the slow rise and fall of his chest growing slower and slower as time went on, until it evened out into a steady trance. Seated in front of the boy, the redheaded man folded his own left hand into a half-ram, mimicking the boy’s calm breaths.

An almost unnoticeable pressure built up in the air around them. It was slight, as minuscule as a single blade of grass being added to a vast plain, but both figures sensed it nonetheless.

The light around the older redhead flickered once with bronze and copper hues, there and gone in less than a second. Shuddering visibly at the change, the younger’s pinched expression further soured. But his breathing did not waver, and for a brief instant, his hands seemed to glow with topaz light. The pressure increased tenfold for a breathless moment—

And then it shattered like glass.

“I almost _had it!_ ” The younger cried, hands sliding clumsily out of the seal to smack against the ground with frustration. They abandoned the effort halfway through in favor of rubbing harsh lines across his forehead, which was rapidly blooming with pain. He blinked, and his vision danced with spots.

He didn’t care. He’d almost _had it._ He had felt the large pool of energy tucked neatly behind his ribs, as bright as the sun and cool as the sea, but it had simply not wanted to _move._ The other energy source — the one that had originated from his companion — had helped coax it out, just a bit. Like dipping the end of a single toe in the water, the faintest trickle of it had eased towards his fingertips in wary exploration.

But as soon as he tried to increase the flow, it was like the energy surged forward, only to hit a wall and retreat. It snapped back into place like a rubber band, and set his head reeling. He wondered if that was how it might feel to Body Flicker straight into a tree, head first.

There was something _wrong_ with the energy. It was simply _too_ stubborn, far beyond what was usual even for the particularly recalcitrant.

Of course, being five, he had no way to articulate all of this— all he knew was that he could not move it, felt that he _should not_ move it, but desperately wanted to anyway. Despite the splitting headaches it caused, the sense of _wrongness_ that built with each insistent nudge, he wanted nothing more.

Across from him, the redheaded man sighed, releasing his own half-seal in favor of reaching out to steady the swaying five year-old. His hands gripped the boy’s small shoulders carefully, like they would break beneath his fingers. Given his slim figure, and that he barely passed for a hundred and seventy centimeters tall on a good day, it was an especially amusing thought to have.

As dangerous as he could be, given the tools and motivation, Uzumaki Yukine was not exactly a threat to his sickly five year-old son.

[TO BE CONTINUED. SEE NOTES FOR MORE DETAILS.]


End file.
